


Gandalfs apprentice's 2010 birthday cards

by gandalfsapprentice



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4440239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfsapprentice/pseuds/gandalfsapprentice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary by Gandalfs apprentice: I'm a September baby. It's been a long time since I was active in the Birthday Cards forum, but I've got some burning questions that I'd like to throw out there as a Birthday challenge. There are some gaps in the canon which sorely try my imagination, and I'd like to see what others can make of them. You can answer any way you wish, including writing an AU, or take off in any way from the particular gap in question.</p><p>Chapter 1 by: Ygrain<br/>Chapter 2 by: Cuinwen<br/>Chapter 3 by: Maeglin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Other Thing--by Ygrain

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Why did Elwing throw herself off a cliff instead of sticking around to protect her two small sons from the Kinslaying sons of Feanor? What on earth did Elrond make of his mother's actions?
> 
> 2\. What did they really talk about in the White Council? In particular, I am intrigued by the evident fact that Saruman did not know that the Heirs of Isildur still lived in the North, and Gandalf by his own admission never told his boss about his suspicions, and, later, sure knowledge that the Ring had been found. In fact, it seems like nobody ever told Saruman anything, while complaining that he didn't tell them anything. What a dysfunctional council of the wise....
> 
> 3\. Speaking of not telling people things, why didn't Faramir mention to his dear old dad that he had heard from the Halfling in Ithilien that the Sword of Elendil was on its way to Minas Tirith, borne by a man claiming to be the Heir of Isildur? After all, his entire company of Ithilien Rangers had heard this news, too, and you would think the story would be going around. Did Faramir tell Denethor the news in private, away from Mithrandir's ears, for whatever reason? Or did he just keep entirely silent? And why?
> 
> I hope you find these questions inspiring! Thank you!
> 
> Note:Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at HASA, which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the HASA collection profile.

The door of my chamber is a shield from the outer world: I secure it with the bar and lean against it. My legs tremble but mere pride keeps me from sagging to my knees even in privacy.

Never, ever, not even in the worst dreams, would I think...

I stare into the merciless darkness. It was not supposed to go like this. Not that I had expected Father to be pleased, not that I had not experienced the outbursts of his anger before... I did expect, though, that he would listen to my account, inquire about every minute detail, while supporting his chin with his fingers and looking somewhere past me with narrowed eyes, thinking and probing his vast knowledge and memories.

I expected that in the end he would, grudgingly, admit that my decision was right. Whereas -

I shut that memory out, shut my eyes to keep that look he gave me out, but I cannot shut my ears.  _"I do wish indeed,"_  I hear him say again as if he were standing next to me.

I realize that I've been pressing my hand against my mouth so hard that I can hardly breathe.

Enough.

I stagger from the door and after many attempts I light a candle. Then, as I watch the tiny flame, I ponder the other thing of utmost urgency that I should have reported. First I was too stupefied by the twist of the debate to bring it up, later... I could not find the strength to do so.

I could not find the strength to face him, after what he said. I cowed from the idea what else he might tell me.

I will tell him tomorrow, after I have recovered, there will be enough time to do so.

After I have at least partially forgotten, and forgiven him, that sentence which even now burns in my mind as if branded by red-hot iron.

After I have composed myself enough so as not to tell him things I would pity later.

Later, I will tell him later, or...

I chuckle at the sudden thought that I might not tell him at all. The look on his face when that Heir of Isildur arrives with his claim -

The image of my father with dropped jaw drives me to laughter - laughter which has nothing to do with amusement, I realize as my body convulses uncontrollably.

I take a few deep breaths, clutching and releasing my hands, until I stop shaking. No more of this. I need to rest, to sleep - I  _wish_  to sleep, not to think, not to feel -

More deep breaths, in and out.

Tomorrow, I will tell him. Tomorrow, there will surely be time to talk.

Time to talk, to set things right. Tomorrow.

* * *

_Author's note: According to LOTR, the following day Denethor summoned his council in very bad mood. There was definitely little time for private talk, and after the council Faramir was hardly inclined to confer with his father. Denethor's knowledge of the Ranger who was supposed to replace him must have come from another source, be it the palantir or more conventional ways._


	2. Elwing's Leap by Cuinwen

For Gandalf's apprentice.  I've no idea what Elrond may have made of the situation, but here it is from Elwing's POV:  
. . .

"Elros!" she shrieked.  He startled and wobbled on the balustrade.  Little Elrond's brows, furrowed in concern before, threatened to merge.  Elwing fought back the instinct to rush forward, lest her eldest son step back from her rage, for nothing but a sheer drop separated the child from the foaming sea below. 

"Darling," she said, her voice quivering, "Please your mother and come down onto the courtyard."

But the elleth turned away, jaw set.  Still facing away, he said, "There is no danger.  Ulmo told me some day I will rule a great realm in the sea.  Always he will see to me and mine."

"Well, then, come down from the ledge to humor me."

She blinked and the memory vanished; she stood alone.  That day had been like this one:  gentle white clouds in the sky and terns gliding on an invigorating breeze, the salt air so clean and wholesome it might have blown straight from Aman.  But today she heard the sound of metal striking metal, coming nearer.  The citadel was breached; her time was running out.

_What was the name of that bird, the one that pretends to be wounded to lure predators away from its young?  Oh, I have never been good at naming things.  Too late make good on it now.  Some Quendi I am._

Yet there was hope in Elros' remembered words.  If he were indeed favored by the Lord of Waters, perhaps her children might find safety even now.  They would have reached the hiding place behind the waterfall, with Nana and a picnic basket full of toys and books, berries and lembas.  They need not come out for a week, maybe longer.  The sounds and odors of battle would not reach them.

But her fear might.  Elwing guarded her thoughts.

Oh, how she longed to let her spirit free, to spew her outrage, her regrets, her longing for Eärendil on the wave.  The Silmaril blazed on her forehead, as if it fed on her bottled emotions, turning them to sparkles.   _You are mine_ , she thought,  _mine by conquest_.

She giggled hysterically at the notion, but disciplined herself again.  They were coming in conquest, those who thought themselves the rightful owners of this cursed jewel.  And cursed it was, she saw at last.  For all its beauty, Melkor had tainted it by long association, infested it with niggling greed, subtle enough to seduce Lúthien and Elwë, even Dior.  She should give it up, she saw that clearly at the last.  But she could not.  She, too, was enslaved to the thing.  She had betrayed her people, her husband and even her children to keep hold of it, though she had not known it in time.

The doors to the courtyard flew open, splintering as they slammed into the stone walls.  Warriors poured through, swords drawn.  Not her people, Feänarans .  But Elwing's white feet were already planted on the balustrade, her jet black hair and silver robes billowed in smooth sheets about her. 

"Take it, Ulmo, purify it," she prayed with all her heart as she leapt.


	3. Unwisdom, or, um, well -- by Maeglin

Finwë waited patiently for the one he had summoned.  Not long, for she arrived with characteristic alacrity.  
  
"Mae govannen, Daerada!"    
  
Artanis smiled in a manner that few could match.   It did seem, the King thought, that the light of the Trees shone from within her, moreso than from any other of his people.  But on this occasion, the he did not rise from his throne to embrace her, instead regarding her appraisingly.    
  
After returning the same regarding gaze for what seemed an excessively long time, the young one continued: "You called for me?"  
  
"I did."  He then rose, but did not step down from the dais.  Instead, he now fixed his gaze upon her with greater force, from his full height.    
  
To her credit, Artanis did not look away, as most would, but finally relented, curtseying, her smile a little less certain.  "I am here!"    
  
Having given this answer, she seemed to brighten again.  
  
"Indeed you are."    
  
Finwë did not elaborate, but continued simply looking sternly upon his grandaugther until finally the young ellyth showed some discomfort.  
  
"Have I displeased you, my lord?"  
  
"You have."  
  
"I did not wish to!  But what have I done?  Please tell me, so that I may not repeat it."  
  
The King now descended from the dais and sat in one of the lesser chairs usually occupied by counsellors of the now-empty court.  He gestured, indicating Artanis to sit beside him in a chair of equal rank.  She did so.  
  
"It seems not so long since I bounced you upon my knee, grandaughter.  How you have grown since then!  Very great you have become.  Yet there are still some lessons you have either failed to learn, or, in your pride, forgotten.  I hope it is the former."  
  
Artanis now blushed, realizing the substance.  "I ... did not mean for it to come out that way!"  
  
Finwë now smiled benevolently.  "I am sure you did not, child.  Of course you could have given the same answer more politely.  However, the opposite answer would have been far better.  Princes should be generous.  It was such a small gift my son asked of you.  Why did you refuse him?"  
  
Artanis ran her hand nervously though her unbound hair for a moment.  "I do not trust Feanaro, Daerada.  I don't know why.  It seemed he wanted it for some hidden purpose."  
  
"Beautiful as your hair is, penneth nin. I do not think even Feanaro could  _do_  much with it, other than set it in a stone."  
  
The king pulled a tiny blade from within his robes and sliced several inches from one of his own raven braids.  "See, it is nothing!  Only hair; it will grow back."  
  
Artanis said nothing, but looked as though she would very much like to speak further.    
  
At this, Finwë grew quite concerned.  He had heard  _other_  rumors about his son and granddaughter, but had always dismissed them as impossible lies, until now.  So, he spoke carefully.    
  
"But I must admit, the story as it came to my ears is scarcely to be believed.  Did Feanaro ask you for anything  _else_?  Perhaps something of greater ... value?"  
  
The ellyth, understanding the implication and now thoroughly embarassed, breathlessly replied "Noheonlyaskedforthreehairsnothingelse Feanarodidnothingtodishonorhimselformeoryoumylord buttotellyouthetruthIwouldnotgivehimevenone!"  
  
The King of the Noldor now wore an expression of utter bewllderment.  There was no deceit in his granddaughter's speech or eyes.  Apparently Feanaro had told him the true tale; he had politely asked Artanis for three of her ... hairs, and she had reacted... well, she had _reacted_.    
  
"Very well, Artanis.  I approve of your refusal to do a thing that you feel strongly should not be done, though I cannot say I understand it in this case.  I will not speak of this matter to you or to anyone else again, but if you wish to speak further of it to  _me_  at some future time, by all means do so."  
  
The ellyth, understanding this as a dismissal, fairly fled.  
  
Finwë looked down at his cut braid and wondered once more whether he had been right to bring his people West. 


End file.
